


Sweet On You

by solarperigee



Series: Gaykery AU [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Art/playlists/etc welcome, Brief Mentions of (Past) Career Ending Injury, Brief mentions of anxiety and depression, DISCLAIMER: the author has never worked in a bakery, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, History Professor Jack Zimmermann, M/M, Podfic Available, Poet Derek "Nursey" Nurse, SO MUCH FLUFF, The Blood of Olympus (Heroes of Olympus) Spoilers, but everyone is fine now, but has seen 5 seasons of GBBO, sort of?? i haven't actually read it but i checked the wiki for One piece of information, this is the purest manifestation of my Id which probably says something about me, unadulterated fluff, which is basically the same thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 00:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarperigee/pseuds/solarperigee
Summary: In which Bitty owns a bakery, Nursey is a writer, and Dex can't handle having one crush, much less two.





	Sweet On You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palateens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/gifts).



> this fic would not have been possible without Jayme alpha reading it, holding my hand, AND knowing more than me about spelling and grammar, or Pau who is one of the best cheer-readers i've ever had.
> 
> i owe you both my life.

Will hates being on register duty. He's too awkward and uncomfortable to fake the sunny disposition that Bitty and Chowder manage to make look effortless, and he’s much better in the kitchen anyway, so, really, it isn't his fault when he spills coffee on a rude businessman, mixes up “fuck, my bad” and “you okay” and somehow spits out “fuck you, okay?”

The businessman sputters out an outraged “excuse me?” before Bitty intervenes, placating smile in place, and Will is lightly shoved toward the kitchen door.

It swings shut behind him, and he exhales the tension that had been building all morning.

“Register got you down?” Kent asks, off on the “Contains Gluten” side of the kitchen, rolling small balls of dough for sticky bread with practiced, efficient motions.

Will feels the corner of his mouth quirk up despite himself, and he washes his hands before joining Kent, who waits in comfortable silence until Will is ready to talk.

“I spilled coffee on a customer,” he admits, not looking up from his work. The repetitive movement is already calming him down.

“We've all been there,” Kent replies sagely.

“I followed it up by saying 'fuck you' to him.”

Kent winces, and then starts laughing.

“What?” Will tosses his latest dough ball into the pan with more force than necessary.

“You have to admit, it's kind of funny,” Kent smiles, unrepentant.

Will thinks about it. Tries to remove himself from the situation, and erase the absolute mortification he feels. He smiles. It is pretty funny.

“You're right,” he sighs dramatically.

“Always am!”

Bitty chooses that moment to stride back into the kitchen. “Honey, we both know that ain't true,” he says fondly, and Kent's eyes brighten.

“You wound me,” he swoons, flinging one floury hand across his brow, sending flour everywhere.

Bitty laughs, and drops a kiss on the corner of Kent's mouth. The two of them share a lovestruck smile and Will groans.

“That's a health code violation, put a dollar in the jar.”

Bitty huffs, rummaging in his apron pocket, while Kent looks on smugly. “I still don't understand why you get to fine me in my own daggone bakery.”

Will points across the room to the jar. “Because Jack agreed with me, and we need a new website.”

“He's got you there, Bits.”

“What he should be getting,” Bitty says, mock-sternly, “is back to the register.”

Will feels some of the tension from earlier return, and he carefully places his last ball of dough in the pan, before washing his hands again, and steeling himself to return to the front.

Bitty stops him with a hand on his arm before he can leave the kitchen. “Chris will be here within the hour, and you can tap out for a bit then, okay?”

Will takes a deep breath and nods. It's only another hour.

He pushes the door open.

.--. .. .

Will never intended to work at a bakery. His hands were much more suited to the fishing and automotive work he'd grown up with, far too rough and clumsy to flute the edges of a pie crust or deftly separate yolk from white.

He'd met Bitty sometime during the fall of his junior year, when Will had been having a panic attack in the bakery over accidentally deleting an important section of code, hours before the project was due. Bitty had sat down across from him and calmly talked him out of it, walking him through his senses until he could breathe again.

When he'd tried to thank him, Bitty brushed it off, saying, “my boyfriends have anxiety, too,” before presenting Will with a new flavor of cookie he was experimenting with and asking for his opinion.

Will doesn't code much anymore, but that's fine. He's got a job, and friends, and he's doing alright, all things considered.

He's got a crush on his coworker, but he's made it through worse, right?

.--. .. .

Eric watches the kitchen door swing closed, Dex disappearing into the front of the shop.

He turns to Kent, who's leaning against the counter, watching him with a soft look on his face.

“Stop worrying about him, Bits,” Kent chides. “If he really couldn't handle it, he'd tell you. Or me. I’ve heard that I'm a good listener.”

Eric thwacks his boyfriend on the shoulder. “Hush up,” he says, aiming for stern and missing by a mile. “Do you have this handled?” he gestures at the messy work station and timers for various other goods.

Kent wipes his hands in his apron, and drapes his arms over Eric's shoulders. Eric's hands automatically come up to slide into Kent's back pockets. “Babe,” he starts, seriously. “If I couldn't handle some sticky bread and a few batches of cookies, I'd've burned this place down years ago.”

Eric opens his mouth to defend himself, but Kent just keeps going.

“ _Babe_. Trust us to communicate our limits, okay? Now you-” he kisses the tip of Eric's nose. “-need to get back to the office and finish some sexy, sexy paperwork, don't you?”

Eric groans. “How much would it cost to hire someone to do all our paperwork?”

Kent pretends to think. “Twelve hundred million dollars,” he replies.

Eric laughs, dropping his face to rest on Kent's chest. “You are so full of bullshit, mister.”

He can feel the smile Kent buries in his hair. “That's what you love about me, isn't it?”

Eric hums agreeably before untangling himself and heading towards the office. Stopping just inside the door, he leans back to ask, “Hey, do you know when Jack's getting home?”

“He's got office hours tonight, so probably around seven if no one's having a crisis,” Kent replies, focus already returned to the task at hand.

“Thanks, sugar,” he smiles, closing the door on the sound of Kent resuming whatever Britney Spears song is playing in the kitchen.

.--. .. .

Eric Bittle always wanted to own a bakery. He never thought it would be in Massachusetts, or that he'd have not one, but two boyfriends to help him run it.

Piety started as a solo endeavor, before he met Jack, a local history professor, who was drawn to the bakery by the promise of gluten-free food. Jack had teased him about his lack of healthy options, and Eric had defended himself, and his heritage, telling Jack that if he wanted salad, there was grass outside.

Jack had laughed, and Eric had briefly considered forgiving him.

Eventually, Jack brought his high school sweetheart and the first out player in the NHL, Kent Parson, with him. Kent had given him a devastating smile when they shook hands and said, _“So you're the man Jack has a crush on.”_

Somewhere amid Jack and Eric’s helpless sputtering, Eric had gotten two new phone numbers and a wink from Kent. Kent had gotten a slice of gluten-free chocolate cake, rolling his eyes fondly as he complained, _“Gluten free flour tastes dusty, but otherwise I'd kill him or something if I kissed him, so I guess it balances out.”_

Jack, for his part, elbowed his boyfriend in the side, only turned a little bit red, and bought an entire gluten-free maple apple pie to _“make up for this asshole.”_

A little over a year later, Kent went down hard in the middle of the playoffs, and didn't get back up. After a handful of surgeries and months of physical therapy, he was able to walk on his own, but he wouldn't be able to play again.

The months following his injury were hard for all of them, and Kent went uncharacteristically quiet. He spent most of his waking hours on the couch, cradling Kit close to his chest and staring blankly at the TV.

Slowly, he improved. He started seeing a therapist, tracking his progress in a journal, and laughing more.

On one of his worse days, Eric pulled him off the couch and into the apartment's small kitchen. There, Eric pulled a handful of ingredients from the shelves, and taught Kent how to make bread.

Kent had listened, enraptured, and it had all been downhill from there.

Sometimes people come into Piety, hoping to catch a glimpse of the retired hockey star, but Kent prefers to stay in the back, says it's better for his ego this way.

.--. .. .

Will is in the middle of a deep breathing exercise he learned from Kent, when Chris clatters through the door.

“Afternoon,” Chris greets him, grinning widely.

Will can't help but smile back, breathing all but forgotten. “Afternoon,” he returns.

“Gimme five minutes to set this all down, and I'll clock in, okay?” Chowder gestures to the bulging backpack he's carrying.

“No rush,” Will assures him, despite the fact that he would really love to escape the register as soon as possible, please.

Chowder gives him a knowing look and hurries through his routine of dropping his stuff in the office, clocking in, saying hello to Bitty and Kent, and grabbing his apron.

Autumn is just starting to chill the air, but Chris has just come from the rink, and his shoulders stretch the fabric of his San Jose t-shirt as he deftly ties the apron behind his back.

Will gives himself a moment to linger on that, before distracting himself. “How was your other work?”

“Other work?” The corners of Chowder's eye crinkle with the width of his smile. “It was good! Most of the kids in my level one class can stop without using the boards, so that's good!”

“Yeah?” Will finds himself leaning in a little, one arm resting on the display case. “Anything funny happen this week?”

“I corrected a five year old on how to push off with one skate, and they said 'thank you. We should get married.’ Does that count?” Chris runs a hand through his hair and Will abruptly understands how the women in Jane Austen novels feel.

He laughs, and then has to quell it fast, before he starts turning red. “I’ll take it,” he says, and now he can feel the blush in his cheeks.

“I should, uh,” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “I should go see if Kent has the kitchen handled.”

“Good luck,” Chris teases, leaning against the register, arms crossed in a way that unfairly emphasizes his biceps.

“I'll need it,” Will returns, before beating a quick retreat.

.--. .. .

Kent does, mostly, have the kitchen handled, and the bake times on the ovens are staggered enough that one person could get the pans out and unloaded before the next was ready to be removed, but this way one of them can handle the gluten-free side and one can handle the gluten side.

Bitty once rambled to Will at length about how food is a language of love, and that means it should be accessible to everyone, regardless of dietary restrictions or financial situation.

He'd been two margaritas deep at that point, and near tears, but Will, halfway through his first, had been fairly sure Bitty was just impassioned, not sad.

Needless to say, Piety boasts gluten-free versions of all its goods, a pay-it-forward wall, lists of the ingredients of all their products, and participates in the local food reclamation program.

The two sides of the kitchen are separated by a stripe of red duct tape, and require separate storage and ovens. It is, essentially, like having two kitchens.

Will takes the gluten-free side, and lets the sound of Kent singing the words and music of Toxic (complete with dancing, if Will were to look) relax him.

Despite being a retired NHL player, Kent Parson, he's discovered, knows how to take up the exact right amount of space to make a room comfortable. When it's the two of them alone in the kitchen, Kent's personality unfolds, and he goofs around enough to distract Will from his thoughts. But when it's been a rough day, and Will crumples in on himself for fear of lashing out, Kent quiets to give him space, but remains a steady light regardless of the storm clouds brewing in Will's head.

With the two of them, the work goes quickly, and the various cookies, buns, and scones are soon set to cool on wire racks.

Kent glances at his watch before looking up at Will. “If you wanna start on the dough for tomorrow morning, we can proof it at room temp until closing and then let it rise in the fridge overnight.”

Will smiles, a little too excited about being trusted with this, but it's okay because Kent grins back just as wide.

It's near impossible to work in a bakery and never make a batch of bread, and the process has become as familiar as breathing. By the time the dough has gone from a sticky mess to a smooth ball, Will's arms are pleasantly tired.

He gently sets it in a large, greased bowl, and wipes his hands in his apron.

“What’s next?”

Kent looks around the kitchen and then pulls a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his apron.

“I think,” he says, squinting at the schedule. “If you want to do another couple batches of dough and load up the dishwasher, it'll be about time for the afternoon rush, and Chowder'll need your help.”

Will tries not to cringe, and forces all of his focus into measuring out the ingredients for another batch.

He doesn't loiter or try to make the bread take longer, but he gets lost in the process enough that Kent has to say his name several times before Will responds.

“Crowd’s gonna be in soon,” he says. “I'll handle dishes if you get out front.”

Will nods, hearing the request as the order it is, and sets his last batch of dough in its bowl before dragging himself through the door.

Chris smiles at him immediately, and Will feels his insides warm.

“If you want,” Chowder says, conspiratorially. “You can do coffee and I'll take the register.”

Will nods, relieved, and starts giving the machines a perfunctory wipe-down before Chris calls out an order for him.

They work well together, in sync in a way that always surprises Will, and this time he doesn't spill coffee on anyone.

.--. .. .

The afternoon rush has slowed to a trickle and Will and Chris are idly chatting, when the door swings open with a melodic jingle.

The man who enters is maybe Will's height, wrapped in forest green sweater that looks softer than anything Will's ever touched. He looks tired, like most of their customers, but Will is taken aback by how _pretty_ he is.

He squints up at the chalkboard coffee menu, then turns his attention to the pastry case.

“Welcome to Piety! What can I get for you?” Chowder smiles and Dex tries not to look like he staring at either of them.

The man leans against the counter. “I can't decide. What's your favorite?”

Chris hums thoughtfully. “Probably the apple turnovers, to be honest. Or basically any cookie.”

The man smiles. “Then I'll take an apple turnover and a cookie. Surprise me.”

“Gluten free?” Chris asks, keying in the order.

The man looks perplexed, and Will finds himself stepping in.

“All of our baked goods are available with or without gluten. They're made using separate tools and ovens, and stored separately to avoid cross contamination.”

The man blinks at him in surprised silence. “Then… the ones with gluten, I guess?”

Chowder nods, tapping a few more keys. “Anything to drink?”

The man smiles again, but this time the full force of it is turned on Will. “Do you have pumpkin spice yet?”

Will nods, not entirely trusting himself to speak when faced with that amount of beauty at once.

“Then I'll take the largest PSL I can get,” he says, still smiling as if he's sharing a joke with Will.

Will busies himself with the latte machine and almost misses Chris asking for the man's name, and the man's reply.

 _Derek_.

It's a good name, Will decides, and he scrawls it on the side of the cup before filling it.

The foam on top is suspiciously heart shaped, but at least Will doesn't drop it on anyone.

.--. .. .

The sun goes down before the shop closes.

The bakery is nearly empty, and last rays of sunlight are glinting off the pastry case when the door swings open, one last time.

Will glances up, and waves a little, before sliding a mug of Earl Grey across the counter, the tea bag bobbing cheerfully.

“Thank you,” Jack smiles, his blue eyes warm, and Will understands how Parse and Bitty could have fallen in love with this kind-eyed history professor.

“No problem,” Will waves him off. “Parser should be cleaning the kitchen and Bits is in the office. Fair warning, there's paperwork.”

Jack laughs at the warning, and saunters behind the counter and through the kitchen door.

Will turns around to find Chris regarding him thoughtfully.

“Do I have something on my face?” Will asks, dreading the _yes_ that's sure to come.

“Nah,” Chowder shrugs one shoulder. “I just think it's really nice that you make sure he has tea at the end of the day.”

Will feels the blood rush to his face. “It makes him smile.”

“Yeah,” Chris says softly. “You're a good friend.”

Will ducks his head, concentrating on scrubbing down the counter.

The only sound in the bakery is the tap-tap-tap of the pumpkin spice customer, typing fervently on a laptop.

After a long moment, Chowder sighs and glances at his watch.

“I'll go let him know we're closing,” he mutters, close enough to Will's ear that he shivers a little and hopes Chris doesn't notice.

Will watches out of the corner of his eye as Chris crosses the bakery, sliding casually into the seat across from the man.

Will doesn't catch what Chris says to him, but he sees Chris’s polite smile, and the startled look on the customer's face, clearly pulled out of deep concentration.

They chat for a couple minutes before the guy nods, smiling a little bit, and shuts his laptop.

On his way out the door, he calls over his shoulder a cheerful, “see y’later!” and then the door jingles closed.

.--. .. .

Will manages to escape the service part of food service for the next few days, working on a sudden influx of custom orders.

He has his earbuds in, listening to what Kent would describe as “dad rock” and painstakingly outlining the icing decorations on a massive batch of cookies.

He's so engrossed in his work that he doesn't notice the kitchen door swing open, nor the short blonde that comes bobbing through it.

Will startles a little, but manages not to jostle the line he's piping, when Bitty appears in his periphery, already reaching for the piping bag of thinner icing to begin flooding the outlines.

Will shrugs up one shoulder to knock the earbud out of his ear. “Hey, Bitty,” he says.

Bitty smiles at him, still expertly icing the outlined cookies. “Hey, Dex,” he replies.

“I thought you were working the counter today?”

“I was,” Bitty makes a dismissive sound. “But business was slow and piping cookies is so satisfying, so I abandoned Chowder out there all on his lonesome.”

Will laughs. “I'm sure he'll survive.”

“Well,” Bitty sets another cookie aside. “He did seem to be making friends with that new regular, oh, what's his name.” He stops piping to scrunch up his face and tap his foot, a perfect caricature of someone thinking.

“Ah!” Bitty snaps his fingers. “Derek, that's his name!”

“Oh?” Will asks carefully, more focused on piping a smooth line than on listening to Bitty gossip about Chris's apparent crush.

“Yes, and he’s a writer!” Bitty exclaims. “He's been in here almost every day this week, trying to meet a deadline.”

“That's nice,” Will mumbles, counting up the remaining uniced cookies.

“William Poindexter,” Bitty reprimands, and Will freezes. “Are you listening to me?”

Will nods, trying to sneakily recount the cookies. “You said the new regular is a writer. Also, if someone's a regular, doesn't that mean they stop being new?”

“It most certainly does _not_! And stop trying to change the subject,” Bitty huffs.

Will takes a deep breath and counts down from ten. “Bitty, you know this order is due for pickup in a couple hours and the icing’ll need time to set up.”

“That doesn't mean--”

“Bitty, _please_ ,” he says, letting some of his stress seep into his voice.

Bitty shuts his mouth.

“If you help me get these iced, we can sit in the office and eat the spares and you can tell me all about our new regular.”

Bitty considers him for a moment, recognizes the offer for the olive branch that it is, and ices another cookie.

Will resigns himself to hearing all about Derek, the writer and new regular.

.--. .. .

The client picks up their order of cookies exactly on time, and Will hands them over with a smile, satisfied with how they'd turned out.

He double checks that he isn't needed at the counter, before joining Bitty in the office, where the ugly almost-siblings of the cookies are waiting on a plate and accompanied by two tall glasses of milk.

Will eyes his favorite chair, the overstuffed easy chair in the corner, but settles in one of the plain, less comfortable ones in front of the desk.

Bitty is tapping away on his phone, either texting his partners or tweeting something, so Will helps himself to one of the less fortunate shortbreads. It's a little browner on the edge that it should be, and the icing has dribbled down the side a little, but it breaks in half with a satisfying snap, and melts in his mouth exactly as it should.

Bitty punctuates whatever he's doing with a last, definitive tap, and reaches for his own cookie, breaking it in half to dunk in his glass.

They sit in companionable silence, munching on their snacks.

Will finishes his first, licking the crumbs off his fingers and contemplating a second. He turns his attention from the plate to Bitty, who has been patiently biding his time.

“Alright,” Will sighs as loudly and dramatically as possible. “Tell me about the new regular.” 

Bitty perks up, shoves the rest of his cookie into his mouth at once, and takes a swig of milk. Will watches, trying not to laugh, as his boss has to wait for the cookie to soften enough to maneuver and chew.

After several long seconds, Bitty dusts the crumbs off his hands and leans forward.

“So,” he begins gleefully. “His name is Derek and he teaches a poetry analysis class at Samwell and writes his own poetry and novels on the side, under a pseudonym.”

Will hums at that, curiosity piqued. “Do you know what it is?”

Bitty lets out his own dramatic sigh. “He wouldn't say. Told me it would 'ruin the mystery’, winked at Chris, and left more in the tip jar than his entire order cost.”

Will bites into his second cookie a little more viciously than he intended. 

Bitty sips his milk, but from the look on his face, he's clearly thinking _tea_.

.--. .. .

Eric is finishing up cleaning the kitchen when a pair of arms wrap around him from the back. He jumps a little, before melting back into the solid chest of one of his boyfriends. Jack, he guesses, both from his height and the fact that he doesn't smell like sugar cookies.

Kent insists that he just smells like the bakery, but Eric has found the Bath & Body Works bottle hiding under the sink.

“Hey, hon,” he says, tilting his head up for a kiss.

“Hey, yourself,” Jack says against his lips. “You almost done down here?”

Eric looks around. Dex had helped him get most of the day's mess cleaned up, and started prep for the next morning, but there were still a handful of dishes to wash, and Eric had sent Dex home.

Poor dear would live in the bakery and sleep under the pastry case if Eric let him.

“Just about.” He wriggles around until he can face Jack. “What's goin’ on upstairs?”

Jack chuckles softly. “Kenny’s making dinner. Sent me down to tell you to 'get your cute little ass up here'.”

Eric laughs too. “And who's his sous?”

Jack leans his forehead on Eric's and contorts his face into an exaggerated grimace. “The Spice Girls.”

“Oh, all of them? That sounds crowded.”

Jack tries to scowl but the corner of his mouth tugs up. Eric wants to kiss it, so he does.

“How about this,” he says, settling back down on his heels. “You help me get these dishes squared away, and then we can go chase the Spice Girls out of our kitchen, okay?”

Jack's smile returns full-force and Eric can't help but smile back.

From upstairs he can just barely hear Kent bellowing along to Wannabe.

Eric's chest feels like an oven full of love.

.--. .. .

The next time Derek The New Regular comes in, Will is alone at the counter.

“Hi,” Will days, with his best customer service smile. “Welcome to Piety. What can I do for you today?”

Derek smiles back, leaning on the edge of the counter, and something about the way the corners of his eyes crinkle reminds Will of autumn. “What do you recommend,” he glances down at Will's name tag. “Will?”

Will peers into the pastry case. They're almost out of gluten free sugar cookies, but a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls has just come out of the oven, so he points at those.

“The cinnamon rolls are my favorite,” he lies. His favorite thing the bakery makes is actually eggnog cheesecake, but that's seasonal. Or maybe the little crackers they make with spare pie dough.

Derek nods pensively. “And your favorite drink?”

Will doesn't have to lie this time. “Chai latte. The blend we have is really spicy. Not, like, hot spicy, but flavorful spicy. I'm pretty sure I could drink a whole box.”

Derek laughs and Will has to restrain himself from disclosing the time he almost did drink a whole box of their Special Imported Chai and Bitty glared at him every time they crossed paths for the rest of his shift.

He distracts himself by punching in Derek's order.

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Hah,” Derek says. “It's funny because your name is Will.”

Will just stares at him for a second, taken aback, finger hovering over the total button.

Derek recovers quickly. “Yeah, that's it.”

Will nods, reads him his total, takes the twenty, and presents Derek with his change.

Derek promptly drops all of it into the tip jar.

“You know you don't have to tip 100%, right?” Will blurts out.

Derek chuckles, looking delighted. “Who's gonna stop me?” he grins.

Will feels himself staring a little and promptly starts mixing two chai lattes.

Bitty doesn't have to know.

.--. .. .

Sometimes Kent goes quiet.

Eric has seen the same horrible blank look on his boyfriend's face too many times since they started dating. It surfaces less often than it did after the injury, but sometimes.

Sometimes Kent disappears a little.

He says it feels like being cold, like the frost is coming from his own bones, slowly encrusting his joints until he can't move.

When Kent goes cold, there aren't enough blankets in the world to keep him warm.

Which isn't to say Eric and Jack don't try.

Jack gets home from work late one evening, to find his boys curled up on the couch. Kent is cradling Kit against his chest, where she occasionally licks him in a half-hearted attempt to groom his sweatshirt.

Or rather, Jack's sweatshirt. It's a little too big for Kent, says _“history professors tend to Babylon”_ , and has the history department logo on it.

Eric is pressed close along Kent's side, leaning against him as he scrolls through Twitter and occasionally tilts his phone to show Kent a funny post.

Jack sets his messenger bag down, leaning it against the counter, to rummage through the freezer to find one of their backup meals. On bad days, no matter whose they are, it's hard for any of them to remember to cook.

He locates a Tupperware of soup and pops it in the microwave to thaw. Then, finally, he strips off his suit jacket and tie, untucks his shirt, and squeezes in between Kent and the arm of the couch, draping his arm across the back so he can hold both of his boyfriends.

“So,” he begins, filling up the silence. Kent presses ever so slightly closer to him. “The war of 1812, also known as the second war for independence, began for several reasons. Can anyone name them?”

Kent smiles, a thin, weak thing, but a smile nonetheless.

“No?” Jack continues. “Well, the first reason was…”

When one of them gets like this, quiet and hurting, there's no point in asking what's wrong anymore. The cloud descends for no reason sometimes, and all they can do is fill in the gaps. And if that means reciting the lecture he gave earlier that day, Jack will talk until his voice gives out.

Anything to drown out the dark thoughts that swarm his partners’ heads.

.--. .. .

Most of Will's shifts line up with Chowder's, ostensibly because they work well together and Will basically works full-time anyway, but it's probably actually because Eric knows about his crush and is torturing him.

His off days get shuffled around throughout the week, but somehow he always ends up working the same shift as Chris when he's just finished a lesson.

Which means talking to him when he's the most passionate about skating and is full of new, adorable stories about the children he works with.

Will comes from a big family and knows eventually he'll have his own, so he really can't be blamed for thinking Chowder is hot when he's talking about how much progress Sabrina has made in the last couple weeks.

Will doesn't even know who Sabrina is, but that's beside the point.

So, it's especially unfair when, on a particularly slow day, Chris sits down across from Derek (who is probably just a Normal Regular at this point), and engages him in a conversation about the book he's working on.

Apparently (from what Will overhears while wiping down the counter and trying to look like he isn't eavesdropping) Derek's published a handful of books, mostly chapbooks (whatever those are) and a couple novels.

And now he's working on a young adult novel.

Which is the unfair part.

Because now, Will has to listen to two exceedingly hot guys ramble about representation and accessibility in fiction and look. Will knows he's white and that he's never struggled to find characters who look like him, but the raw, barely healed pain in their voices makes his heart hurt.

Will makes a note to look up Derek’s books (“they're under the name D. Malik Nurse, if you wanna check 'em out”).

“Yeah, man,” he hears Chris say. “Like when I found out Nico from the Percy Jackson books wasn't straight? I cried.”

And wait. Wait. Is Chowder—

The bell above the door interrupts his thoughts, and he quickly stashes the washrag under the counter.

The customer, a frazzled college student, takes a long time to order, staring dead-eyed at the menu for several minutes before ordering a black coffee. Will gives them the employee discount and a cookie and pretends he doesn't see them tear up.

He remembers what midterms are like.

Across the room, Derek is gesticulating wildly as he tells Chris about a book series about… thieves? Magic? A gang of thieves with a black teenaged sharpshooter and his redheaded alchemist boyfriend. Out of the corner of his eye, Will catches Derek glancing at him.

Will concentrates on scrubbing harder at a particularly stubborn patch of spilled coffee, but he can feel his ears turning pink.

He's saved from hearing anything else by Ollie and Wicks, who barge into the shop, laughing and shoving at each other. Will can't tell what they're bickering about, and he isn't entirely sure he wants to.

“Hey,” he greets them, effectively ending the argument, though he's about 75% sure it was playful. They've been working at Piety for months, and he still can't tell if they're dating or not.

“Sup, Dex?” One of them says, and the other echos him with a “how's it going?”

“Business's been slow, but we haven't had any catastrophes, so I think we're doing pretty well.”

“For sure,” one of them (he thinks Ollie) intones, and the other bursts into giggles.

Will glances between them for a few seconds before putting the rag back in its place and dusting his hands together.

“I'll leave you to it, then. Don't break anything.”

They both giggle at that, but Will exchanges an exasperated look with Chris, who nods slightly, agreeing to keep an eye on Ollie and Wicks.

Will grabs a mini bread loaf from the stale gluten tray and heads off to clock out.

He kind of wants to talk to Bitty.

.--. .. .

Eric is in the office, double checking the order sheets for the next week's delivery, when Dex storms in and crashes into the armchair in the corner.

Eric raises his eyebrows, but finishes verifying a page of products before looking up.

Dex's face is redder than raspberries, and Eric idly makes a note to add thumbprint cookies to the specials menu.

“You wanna talk about what's got you so worked up?”

Dex leans forward, looking stiff and uncomfortable, takes a deep breath, and blurts, “How did you get two boyfriends?”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Eric suppresses a laugh at the mortified look Dex is giving him.

“Really?” Eric asks, surprised.

“Yes, really,” Dex snaps, and Eric would be put off by his tone if he couldn't see the way Dex's hands shake where they dangle, clasped together between his knees.

“What do you wanna hear about? How we met? Who asked who out? Our first date? How we talked about boundaries and expectations until our voices hurt?”

“Yes,” Dex says quickly. “All of it. Except I know you met here.”

Eric sighs and leans back in his desk chair, slowly spinning it side to side as he mulls over how to begin.

Dex waits, practically vibrating in his seat.

“Well,” Eric drawls thoughtfully. “I met Jack first, he dropped by every couple weeks or so, and always stayed to chat. Then he brought his boyfriend, who came in flirtin’ up a storm. Kenny made a joke about how gluten would kill Jack— it won't, hon, don't worry— and Jack looked at me and rolled those pretty blue eyes, and I was a goner right there.”

“Yeah, but _how_ did you--”

“I'm gettin’ there. Patience is a virtue,” Eric scolds, in his best approximation of his Moomaw's voice.

Dex scrunches his face but stays quiet.

“Anyway, they gave me their numbers, and kept coming by until finally, Jack asked me to come over for dinner with them. So I did, thinkin’ it was all platonic, up until Kenny goes and kisses me hello in the damn foyer, I swear,” Eric shakes his head, smiling fondly at the memory.

“So then we had to talk about it. I didn't wanna be some one night stand, which was good, 'cause they were under the impression that it was a date, and we talked about our emotional needs and what we all wanted and didn't want from the relationship, and finally decided we'd figure it out along the way and make an effort to communicate.”

Dex nods slowly. “Okay, that's nice and I'm glad it went so well for you, but that doesn't…”

“Oh, lordy,” Eric huffs out a laugh. “Dex, honey, are you looking for an instruction manual?”

“No!” Dex answers quickly, shifting awkwardly and looking at the floor.

“Will,” Eric makes his voice as gentle as possible, and Will flicks his eyes up from the carpet. “No two relationships are gonna be the same, especially not when you get multiple partners involved.”

Dex looks suitably chastised, shoulders slouching forward to make him look smaller.

Eric's heart softens. “Dex, honey, it's okay. It might seem hard, but the best thing to do would be to talk to the people you have feelings for. If you want, I can recommend a couple books about polyamory but they aren't instruction manuals either.”

“Yeah, okay,” Will says, subdued.

“Do you wanna talk about your hypothetical persons of interest?”

Dex's blush, which had faded somewhat during the conversation, returns full force. “No,” he says, as if Eric'd asked him to work a double shift at the counter with no clothes on.

Eric laughs a little. “Do you want a hug?”

Dex visibly hesitates before nodding.

Eric pushes himself up from the desk chair and rounds the desk to wrap Dex in an embrace.

Dex, for all that he's taller than Bitty, feels so young and vulnerable when he melts into the hug, and Eric's chest tightens.

When Dex steps back, Eric looks up to meet his eyes. “You done for the day?” he asks, as if he doesn't have the schedule memorized.

Will nods, pushing his unruly hair off his forehead. “Yeah, Ollie and Wicks just got here and I got laundry to do,” he grimaces. “Been putting it off too long.”

“We've all been there,” Eric says with his most reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Will you text me some of those books so I can look 'em up when I get home?” Will's voice is earnest and a little cautious.

“Sure!” Eric exclaims, pleasantly surprised. “I've got copies you can borrow of most of the ones I'd recommend, but I'll let you know which I don't have.”

“Thanks,” Dex replies, soft and embarrassed, but no less earnest. “For everything.”

“Of course, hon! You let me know if you wanna talk. Or if you don't wanna talk to me, I'm sure Jack and Kenny have open ears as well.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Dex smiles, waving over his shoulder as he leaves.

Once the door swings shut behind him, Eric reaches for his phone, pulling up his most frequent group chat.

Eric _: Y'all I think Dex has a crush_

The replies are almost instantaneous.

Kenny: _oh honey we been knew_

Jack: _Can this wait? I'm trying to give an exam._

Kenny: _silence ur phone grumpy_

Kenny: _bits how do u kno_

Eric: _he was asking me for advice on dating multiple people_

Jack: _How do I silence my phone?_

Kenny: _bits we gotta talk abt this 2nite_

Kenny: _10 things movie nite???_

Kenny: _zims I cant believe u have a masters degree & cant use a phone _

Jack: _I hate you both._

Eric: _ <3 see you tonight sweetpea _

Kenny: _4 real can we watch 10 things i love witnessing jacks Heath Ledger crush_

.--. .. .

Derek leans on the counter, his posture more exhausted than suave. “What's the largest drink size you have?”

Will blinks at him. “The large is about twenty ounces?”

Derek nods, pulling out his wallet. “I need one of those, filled with espresso.”

Will laughs incredulously. “You're kidding, right?”

Derek straightens up, still propped upright by his hands. “I have to finish revisions on this manuscript before it can be sent to my editor, and I need to be able to do that _tomorrow_.”

Will feels his eyes widen, and he starts punching in the order. “You know that's gonna be really nasty, right? And it might give you a heart attack or something.”

“Aw,” Derek flirts, but the effect is lessened by the intensity of the bags under his eyes. “I knew you cared, Will.I.Am.”

Will rolls his eyes and reads off the price. Derek hands him a twenty and drops all of his change in the tip jar with a mischievous smile.

“Go find a table,” Will shoos at him. “I'll bring you your hell beverage when it's ready.”

“Thanks, Will,” Derek croons, swaggering off to his usual corner.

Will jots down a note on his sticky note of things to be taken out of his paycheck, and adds a chocolate chip cookie to Derek's order.

By the time Will's done pulling the shots, Derek has set up camp, surrounded by his laptop and a small mountain of loose pages, all pen-marked and highlighted within an inch of their lives.

He sets the cup and cookie down on the table and crosses his arms. He waits until Derek looks up to say, “If you die it isn't my fault.”

Derek smiles up at him. “But you'd miss me, wouldn't you?”

Will scowls. “You tip well, but I'm not going to jail if you have an aneurysm.”

“Fair enough,” Derek nods, turning back to his computer.

Dex glances over his shoulder at the door. There are a handful of customers in the shop, either working on laptops or chatting with friends, and the afternoon rush shouldn't hit for another hour or so, and besides, it's not like he's leaving the front.

He sits down, his heart beating at the same rapid, staccato pace of the coffee machine's alarm.

Derek looks back up, his gorgeous eyes wide, one perfect eyebrow arched. He parts his lips, either preparing a chirp or a question, but Will interrupts.

“Tell me about your book?” he asks, before his courage can desert him. “if you want to, that is?”

Derek grins so brightly, Will has to look away.

“I'd love to!” Derek shuffles his papers around, clearing a place for him to set his espresso. “So, like, when I was growing up, I had a kinda love/hate relationship with reading, y'know? Because I loved stories, but I started to realize that none of the characters looked like me. And then I got older, and I realized that not only were there not enough black protagonists, there were even fewer queer black protagonists.”

Will nods encouragingly and tries not to let on that he'd heard all of this when Derek was telling Chris.

Derek takes a massive swallow of espresso. “And I didn't want other kids to have to feel that, 'cause it sucked. So I'm writing about, like, a bisexual black space pirate.”

Will leans forward eagerly, propping his elbows on the table. “Like Firefly?”

Derek ponders that for a few seconds, tapping his fingers against the paper cup. “I'd argue that Firefly is about space cowboys, not pirates. But maybe? Either way, he's the captain of the ship and he's trying to keep his crew safe, 'cause they're all on the run from something, but he's also falling in love with his pilot, who's also a guy. Because homophobia doesn't exist in space.”

Will laughs at that, and whispers, “homophobia doesn't exist in space” to himself.

Derek grins too, but it's still a little nervous, and that's Will's best excuse for what he does next.

He reaches across the table and snags one of Derek's hands. Holding it firmly, he stares directly into Derek's ~~beautiful~~  eyes and says, as seriously as he can, “That sounds fucking baller.”

The nervousness clinging to the edges of Derek's smile vanishes, and he throws his head back and laughs. Will loses a few seconds gazing at the smooth skin of Derek's throat, but he swears he doesn't imagine pressing kisses against it.

“What?” he grouches.

“Fucking,” Derek has to take a couple of deep breaths to get himself under control. “Baller.”

“It does!” Will abruptly remembers he's holding Derek's hand, has been idly brushing his thumb back and forth, and yanks it back. His hand is colder now. “It sounds great and I bet all the young queer kids, especially the black ones, are gonna love it. I know I would have.”

Derek looks at his hands, and Will thinks, if they Freaky Friday-ed, Derek would be bright red.

“Thanks,” Derek says, clearly trying to play it cool. “I hope so, but there're some parts I'm still struggling with, and I'm mad stressed.”

Will nods, mostly to himself. “I'll buzz off so you can work on those?” he offers.

Derek's eyes stray to the nearest page, before he meets Will's eyes with he same mischievous glint he gets when he's about to tip too much. “Yeah, Will, go do your job.”

Will laughs, blushing and trying to hide it. “Maybe I will,” he snipes back, standing again.

He feels Derek's gaze on him all the way back to the counter.

.--. .. .

Will spends the next hour or so doing his job, thank you very much, _Derek_ _._ Every time there's a break in the mid-afternoon rush, he catches his attention drifting unerringly to the corner, where Derek's posture has slowly dissolved into him slouched about halfway down his chair, chin barely above the table, arms stick-straight as he pokes at the keys.

Will's back hurts just watching him.

Bitty comes out to help when the line gets long, and the two of them work like a well-oiled machine. Will still has to explain what gluten is to three separate people, but with Bitty there to make faces at him, it doesn't grate on him as much as it usually would.

The rush subsides with a customer who orders the glutenous and gluten-free versions of three different items, clearly intending to do make a taste-test video, if the camera bag on their shoulder is anything to go by.

Will finishes boxing them up, gluten in a red box, gluten-free in a white one, as is the policy, and even manages to smile while handing them over.

Bitty pats him on the back as the customer leaves. “Good job, kiddo.”

Will rolls his eyes but can't suppress a smile. “I'm not that much younger than you.”

“But you are younger,” Bitty points out, bent over to restock the pastry case. “Ergo: kiddo.”

“'Ergo,’” Will repeats with air quotes. “You've been spending too much time with Jack.”

Bitty laughs, wiping his hands on his apron as he stands. “No such thing. Now how 'bout you take your boy some tea, he looks like he needs it.”

Will boggles at him, jaw dropped, before he composes himself enough to say, “he isn't my boy” in an urgent and embarrassed whisper.

Bitty pats him again, this time on the shoulder. “Don't worry about charging for it,” he says, and leaves before Will can fully collect himself.

He considers ignoring Bitty's suggestion, but when he lets himself look, Derek has his face in his hands, and Will is dropping a chamomile tea bag into his favorite mug and covering it with hot water before he notices what he's doing.

He slides into the seat across from Derek again, pushing the mug across the table as a peace offering.

Derek looks up, his eyebrows wrinkled in adorable confusion, and Will can't help but smile. “Take it,” he encourages. “You looked like you could use it."

Derek eyes the cup suspiciously. “Is it caffeinated?”

Will rolls his eyes. “No, and if you want more caffeine, you need to find another place to go. I'm not selling you more caffeine, maybe ever.”

Derek pouts a little. “But I like it _here_ ,” he complains, though Will would be tempted to call it whining if he were feeling less generous.

Will leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Then drink your chamomile and stop pushing yourself so hard. It isn't called a deadline because it's supposed to kill you.”

The joke earns him a weak smile. “You sure?”

Will props his chin up on one hand. “Yes. Now tell me about something besides your writing career.”

Derek makes a face, but wraps both hands around the mug and takes a long drink. The creases in his forehead ease and his shoulders relax away from his ears. Will feels like he's glowing with satisfaction.

“My first cat was named Selina, after Catwoman,” Derek says, catching Will off guard.

“My best friend's dog is named Bruce,” Will counters, biting his lip to keep a straight face.

“After Batman?”

Will stops holding back his grin. “Nah, after the shark from Nemo.”

Derek dissolves into giggles, almost knocking his mug over in the process.

“It's true,” Will insists, because it is; Chris is the proud dog-father of a small, ridiculously sweet corgi-dachshund mix, named Bruce.

“Maybe you should talk,” Derek suggests, and Will could almost swear he's flirting. “Tell me about yourself, about your best friend.”

Will's eyebrows go up without his permission. “You sure?” He asks, trying for teasing and ending up with surprise. “I might ramble a bit.”

Derek smiles around the rim of his mug as he takes another sip, before saying “yeah, of course I'm sure. I could use the distraction anyway.”

Will glances at the door, drums his fingers on the table, and thinks.

“He's like sunshine honestly,” Will confesses. “Like, he's really smart and kind and patient, 'cause he works with kids all day, but it's like he never runs out of fuckin’-” he waves a hand uselessly as he searches for the word he wants. “-positivity, or whatever.”

Derek nods. “And you do?”

“I mean, yeah?” Will shrugs. “I'm not good at being friendly like he is, but he never gets irritated that I call dibs on making drinks or working in the kitchen and leave him on cash.”

Derek's eyebrows shoot up. “Your best friend is Chowder?”

“You call him Chowder?” Will responds, equally surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Derek shifts in his seat. “That's what he said his friends call him.”

“I– we do!” Will stammers, at the same time that Derek tries to say, “should I not?”

“No!” Will almost shouts, startling them both. “I mean, you're a really good person too, as far as I know, and he deserves nice things in his life, y’know?”

Derek smiles again, different from before. It's softer, this time. “You think I'm a good person?”

Will opens his mouth. “I–”

The bell above the door jingles, and he stands up so fast that his chair nearly falls over. “I have to–” he hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the counter.

Derek nods slowly, a furrow appearing between his perfectly shaped brows. “You do that,” he says, and it almost sounds like a question.

.--. .. .

Will spends the rest of his shift at the counter, pretending to be super busy cleaning one of the espresso machines.

He looks up from emptying the grounds drawer when the door jingles.

He's just in time to catch Derek's awkward wave as the door swings closed behind him.

Will waves back, but he isn't sure Derek sees him.

.--. .. .

Bitty is curled up on the couch when Kent gets home from the grocery store.

Kent peeks in at him, at how he squints at his laptop screen– he needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them– and types with one hand so he can pet Kit with the other.

He's her favorite, after Kent.

When Bitty is focused like this, his tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth. It's one of the cutest things Kent has ever seen.

Kent retreats to the kitchen to put away the groceries, humming to himself.

When he’s done, he folds up the reusable bags and puts them in their basket. Then, he joins Bitty on the couch.

Bitty jumps a little when Kent sits down, startled, but he relaxes immediately, shifting so Kent can easily wrap around him, prop his chin on Bitty's shoulder, and look at the screen.

“What's up, babe,” Kent asks, once they get arranged.

“I'm doin’ the hours for next month,” Bitty answers, pointing at the spreadsheet on the screen.

Kent nods against Bitty's shoulder. “Trying to decide how many shifts to put Dex and Chowder together on?”

Bitty turns red and tries to push him over, but Kent clings tighter. “You hush up,” Bitty huffs.

“ _Me_ hush up?!” Kent gasps, faking outrage to make his boyfriend laugh.

It works, and Bitty's laughter resonates through both of them. Kent presses his smile into the curve of Bitty's neck.

“I think it's working,” Bitty insists when he's gotten his breath back.

“What is?”

“Putting them on the same shift,” Bitty scoots around until they're facing. “They're talking more and if they get their shit together, they'll stop pining around my bakery. They're making the whole place smell like a Brontë novel.”

Kent snorts. “What does a Brontë novel smell like?”

“Pining.”

Bitty turns back to his computer and fills in a few cells of the spreadsheet.

“What about that writer guy?” Kent wraps his arms back around Bitty. “I know Dex has been spending a lot of lull time at his table lately.”

Bitty hums affirmatively. “Chowder too.”

The two of them stare at the screen for a moment.

“Do you think,” Kent starts. “Do you think they _know_?”

Bitty snorts. “About each other's crushes? Hell no, sugar.”

“Well,” Kent bats Eric's hands out of the way to type _William Poindexter_ in the cell below _Christopher Chow_. “I guess we'll find out.”

.--. .. .

Derek doesn't come back the next day. Or the next. Or the next. After a week, Will starts to wonder at what point Derek loses his status as a regular.

Then, he starts to worry.

He spills a fresh bag of coffee beans in the stockroom and spends fifteen minutes on the floor trying to get the worst of it out from under the shelves with the shitty little hand broom they have.

He gets banished from the kitchen multiple times for hogging the scrap crust crackers.

The final straw, for Chris at least, is when he has to swoop in and take a customer's beverage because Will had zoned out and started to lift it to his mouth.

“Will,” Chris says, laying a hand on Will's shoulder, and Will gets the feeling that he's been saying it for a while.

“What's up?” Will blinks a few times and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“I asked if everything was okay, but I'm pretty sure I have my answer.” Chris's brows are furrowed and he looks more worried than Dex has seen him since Bruce ate a Lego.

“Nah,” Will shakes his head, mostly hoping to clear it. “I'm just tired.”

“You sure?” Chris hasn't removed his hand, and Will can feel him rubbing slow, warm circles through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Yeah,” Will says, with more confidence than he feels. “My brain's a little scattered today, but I'll be fine.”

Chris presses his lips against Will's forehead, a simple, very Chowder expression of affection. “You’ll let me know if you need anything,” Chowder tells him, and it isn't a question, but it's too gentle to be considered an order.

Will nods, forehead tingling where Chris has kissed him.

Chris pats him on the shoulder before withdrawing to restock one of the display trays. Will stands at the counter dumbly for a long moment, hands empty, eyes unfocused, before he grabs a wash rag and starts wiping down the counter.

The tray of cookies– raspberry thumbprints– clatters a little as Chowder sets it down; he must have misjudged the height of the shelf.

The only customers are a group of Samwell students, hunched over a laptop in the far corner as they argue over something in heated whispers.

Will puts down the rag with a splat and turns around. He can immediately feel Chris’ attention on him, but he doesn't fully turn around until Will starts talking.

“I had a, uh,” he focused on their shoes, his own beat up converse nicely complimenting the old man sneakers Kent likes to tease Chris for.

“I had a crush on a customer,” he finally says and Chowder makes a sympathetic noise. “And I think they caught on, because they haven't been back.”

Chris squawks in protest. “You're great, Dex, why wouldn't they want to date you?”

Will shrugs. “‘Cause they're cool and interesting and I'm not?”

Chowder tuts, almost exactly like Bitty does. “You’re compassionate and funny and cute, there's literally nothing to not like.”

Will can feel his cheeks turning red and he can't suppress a smile. “Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Any time,” Chris smiles back, squeezing Will's shoulder on his way to the kitchen for a fresh tray of gluten free cinnamon rolls.

.--. .. .

Chris clocks out early to take Bruce to the vet for his annual, and Will is alone behind the counter. He's doodling on the back of an order form when the bell above the door jingles.

Derek power walks up to the counter, looking like a man on a mission, and Will is caught between confusion and amusement.

The bags under Derek's eyes are mostly gone, and his button down is cleanly pressed, sleeves folded up to show his forearms. His hair is neater than Will's ever seen it, more elegantly disheveled than the mad scientist look he gets when he's been running his hands through it.

“What can I–” Will starts, but Derek holds up a hand to stop him.

“I came here,” Derek pants. “With a plan.”

“Okay?”

“Would you– no, fuck, you're at work that's inappropriate.” Derek shakes his head. “Can I get a small coffee to go, I'm sorry.”

“I said I'd never sell you caffeine again.” Will blinks, a little bit dazed. “What were you going to ask me?”

“It's fine, sorry, can I get a small hot chocolate to go?” His bottle green eyes dart around the shop but refuse to meet Will's.

“I, uh,” Will says, eloquently. “You can have a small hot chocolate if you stick around until closing?”

Derek stops, nervous energy draining in a split second. “I can?” He blurts.

Will cracks a smile. “Yeah, you can.”

Derek smiles back hopefully. “Then, in that case, one small hot chocolate for here, please.”

Will punches in the order, hands Derek his change, and watches as he drops it all in the tip jar.

The hot chocolate is quick to make, and when Will turns back around, Derek is still lingering nervously at the counter instead of sitting at his usual table.

Will hands him the drink, says, “Small hot chocolate for Derek” in a low voice, and doesn't blush at the warmth of Derek's fingers against his.

“You should probably sit down,” Will tells him, hopelessly charmed. “I’ve still got to clean up out here and let Parser know I won’t be able to help with the kitchen.”

“Oh,” Derek nods. “Right.”

Once he’s settled and mostly out of earshot, Will sticks his head through the kitchen door.

“Kent,” he hisses.

Kent pops his head out from the pantry. “Dex! What’s up?”

“Someone said they needed to talk to me and I said they could stick around after close, but that means I might not be able to help with the kitchen. Is that alright?”

Kent considers. “Is it that writer guy?”

“Yeah,” Will bites his lip. “His name is Derek?”

“I know his name!” Kent flaps a dish towel at him. “What I don’t know is why you’re in here instead of sitting out there with your boy.”

“He’s not my–”

“Get out of my kitchen, Poindexter,” Kent whisper-shouts, and Will beats a hasty retreat.

.--. .. .

The door swings shut and Kent fumbles his phone out of his apron, drops it on the floor, and fires off a text.

Kent: _its happening!!_

Bitz: _omg who_

Zimz: _If by it you mean my LECTURE you would be correct._

Kent: _zimbo why do u h8 luv_

Kent: _bits its dex &writer _

Bitz: _!! what about chris!!!_

Kent: _omg rite?!_

Zimz: _Kenny, are you eavesdropping?_

Kent: _would u not b??_

Zimz: _… fair_.

.--. .. .

Will slides into the seat across from Derek, stomach twisting a little bit. “What's up?”

Derek offers a weak smile. “I, um,” he fiddles with the lid of his hot chocolate. “I wanted to ask you out? But,” he rushes to add. “I didn't want to do it while you were on the clock because it's your job to be nice to customers, even if you're kind of bad at it, and I didn't want to put you in an uncomfortable position so I–”

“Wait,” Will interrupts, pulse thundering in his ears. “Wait you wanted to what?”

Derek winces. “I wanted to ask you out.”

Will opens his mouth to say something bold, buoyant with delight, to tell Derek he's off the clock now, so go ahead– but then he remembers.

Will deflates. “I shouldn't, I'm sorry.”

Derek's brows scrunch together and his anxious, hopeful smile droops. “You don't have to tell me, but… uh, why?”

Will fidgets, trying to come up with the right words. “Don't get me wrong, I wanna say yes but,” he hesitates, and Derek waits. “I have feelings for someone else too and I don't think it would be fair to either of us if we started dating and I wasn't, like, fully committed, y'know?”

Derek waits a couple of breathes, processing that. “Can I ask who?”

Will traces a scratch on the tabletop with one finger. “Chris,” he says after a long pause.

“Chowder?” Derek asks, surprised.

Will nods miserably.

“You too? Oh, thank god.” Tension Will hadn't noticed Derek carrying melts out of him.

Will stares. “What.” His voice is flat as unrisen bread.

“You have a crush on Chowder too!” Derek exclaims, looking entirely too jazzed about the prospect. “And you said you wanted to say yes if I asked you out, right?”

Will nods slowly.

“So what if we both asked him out? As a team.” Derek's hopeful smile is back, warm as ever, and Will can practically feel his misery dissolving.

“Do you think he'd say yes?” Will leans forward to prop his elbows on the table.

“Couple'a handsome fellas like us? Of course!” Derek flutters his eyelashes and Will finds himself laughing.

“And if he said yes, we'd all date? Like, together? As a group of three?”

“That was the plan, yeah,” Derek says. “But, to be fair, I am making the plan up as I go.”

He holds out a hand, palm up. “What do you say?” He asks, as if inviting Will on some sort of heroic endeavor. “Are you with me?”

Will grins, and takes his hand. He feels like he's soaring. “I'm in.”

.--. .. .

Kent: _OMG they're holding hands!!_

Bitz: _omg!!!!!_

Zimz: _Oh my god!!_

Kent: _jack…_

.--. .. .

Will is scheduled for a rare kitchen shift the next time Chris is working.

Chowder pops his head in when he arrives, giving Will a dorky little wave and a broad smile. Will smiles back, unrestrained in a way he probably wouldn't've let himself be before.

“Hey, how's business going?” Chris asks, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, y’know,” Will banters back, setting a tray of gluten free cookies on a rack to cool. “It’s all stocks, bonds, and insider trading around here.”

Chowder laughs, reaches for a cookie and pouts when Will slaps his hand away.

“They're too hot, Christopher,” Will scolds as best he can. “I'll bring you one when they're cool.”

Chris sighs dramatically. “You sound just like Bitty,” he says, casting a last longing look at the tray as he slowly retreats to the counter.

Will watches him go.

“Ahem,” Kent declares pointedly.

Will startles. “Yeah, hey, what's up?” he babbles, trying for calm and collected and missing by a mile if the look on Kent's face is anything to go off of.

“God, I wanna fine you so bad,” Kent grouches. “If you get any mushier you're gonna get your feelings all over my shiny, pristine countertops.”

Will blushes furiously. “Okay, that's–”

“Hush,” Kent rolls his eyes. “Get out there. Send Johnson in here, he needs to learn to frost a cupcake.”

Will looks around at the mess he's made of his station and opens his mouth to say–

“ _Go._ ”

Will goes.

Johnson shrugs at the news that Kent wants to teach him cupcake artistry, and gives Will a punch on the shoulder and a muttered, “Finally” on his way into the kitchen.

“Guess it's you and me, bud,” Will says, turning to Chris.

Chris grins and holds up a fist for Will to bump. “Dream team.”

“Dream team,” Will echoes, tapping Chris's fist with his own.

The bell above the door jingles and Chowder turns back to the register to take an order from a woman and the small child holding her hand.

The woman pulls two tickets off of the pay-it-forward wall, requests a small pumpkin spice latte and child's hot chocolate, and then, when the child tugs at her to whisper in her ear, asks for whipped cream on both.

Will misses the rest of the order, which is fine, because Chris has the baked goods covered, and all Will has to focus on is not scalding the milk.

He gives them both extra whipped cream, enough that he's almost worried about being able to get the lids on, but it's worth it for the look of delight the kid gives him when they take the first sip and get only whipped cream.

Will waves at the kid as they leave and gets a grin in return.

The lunchtime rush arrives and Will hardly has time to think, much less talk to Chowder. Then, they have to stagger their breaks because the bakery is short-staffed, which Bitty won't stop apologizing for.

Finally, the chaos dies down, and Will can lean his head against the counter.

“You getting tired, old man?” Chris teases.

“Oh, fuck you,” Will grumbles, without lifting his head. “You're older than I am.”

Chowder laughs. “Yeah, but I've got a baby face.”

“Oh, is that why you get along so well with your students?” Will chirps back, already feeling the headache that'd been building behind his eyes start to dissipate.

“Yeah, exactly,” Chris bumps their shoulders together. “I'm secretly two five year olds in trenchcoat who teach other five year olds how to skate.”

Will laughs and notices the way Chowder's eyes soften at the sound.

.--. .. .

The door jingles open and Derek strides up to the counter. He's wearing a double breasted wool coat that has no right to look as good as it does.

Will stares a little bit, because he's allowed to now.

“Derek!” Chris exclaims. “Welcome back! How's the book going?”

“Hi, Chowder. Hi, Will.” Derek leans a hip against the side of the counter with a smile. “I finished that round of revisions and now I'm just waiting to hear back from my editor.”

“That's awesome! Any idea when I can get my hands on that epic space opera romance?” Chowder asks.

“You'll know as soon as I do, Chow,” Derek promises.

Chris nods. “Good enough. What can I get you today?”

“Hmmm,” Derek bites at his lip before smirking at Will. “How about a date?”

Will's heart is racing, beating heavy against his ribs. He leans an elbow on the top of the display case, trying to match Derek in smoothness. “Y'know,” he says, as casually as he can. “We're having a two for one special on those.”

Chris’ eyes flick between the two of them for several long seconds before his face splits into a delighted grin. “Is this an ambush? Did you two plan this? Are you serious?” he babbles excitedly.

Will lets himself grin back. “Derek and I were wondering if you'd like to go out sometime?”

“The three of us,” Derek interjects. “As a, like, dating triangle.”

“Oh, for sure,” Chowder agrees quickly. “I was wondering when one of you would make the first move.”

Will slaps at Chris’ shoulder. “You mean you knew this whole time and didn't say anything?”

“I didn't wanna rush you or make you uncomfortable,” Chowder protests. “And also I didn't know Nursey that well yet and I wanted to see if that would go anywhere."

“Nursey?” Will turns his incredulous look on Derek. “You mean you have a nickname too and just didn't tell me?”

“It didn't come up,” Nursey shrugs, unconcerned.

Will rolls his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. “Why am I always the last to know things?” He asks the ceiling, which stubbornly refuses to answer.

“Aw, come on, Dex,” Chris wheedles. “Don't be like that.”

“Yeah, _Dex_ ,” Derek echoes. “Don't you like us anyway?”

“Shut up,” Will groans, face flaming.

“Make me,” Nursey taunts.

“That's a health code violation, we'll get fined,” Chowder intervenes, and then, when Derek looks confused, “The owners are dating. It's a whole thing.”

“Oh, chill!”

Kent pops his head out of the kitchen. “Okay, not that this isn't cuter than shit, but I need you to do your jobs or Bitty wins the bet.”

“Bet?” Will asks, weakly.

“Oh my god,” Chris says, treading the line between amused and mortified.

“How much are you winning?” Derek asks, unbothered.

“He has to do the dishes for two weeks and name a cookie after Britney,” Kent says proudly. “Just keep all of this,” he waves a hand at them. “Under wraps for a couple more days.”

Will buries his face in his hands. Chris rubs his back sympathetically. Derek laughs at all of them.

.--. .. .

_Epilogue:_

Will is decorating a cake for a special order when Chris sticks his head in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he grins, and Will looks up from his cake to grin back. “Nursey is here.”

Will glances at Bitty, who waves him toward the door, and follows Chowder out.

“Hey, good lookin’,” Derek sings with an exaggerated leer. “Whatcha got cookin’?”

Will rolls his eyes, but knows he's blushing from the delighted look on his boyfriend's face.

Will straightens his apron. “We have a couple different mini pies and some lemon bars that're really good,” he says in his most professional voice.

Chris, obviously less dedicated to the idea of professionalism, leans across the counter to hook a finger through Derek's collar. “Hey, lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor,” he smirks, and Will would roll his eyes again if it didn't mean looking away from his boys.

“That's a fine!” Bitty crows from behind them, and they all jump.

“Aw, fuck,” Chowder groans. At this rate they're racking up fines faster than Bitty and Kent.

Derek rifles through his wallet, pulls out a twenty, and slides it across the counter with a smirk of his own before leaning in to kiss Will as well.

It's difficult when they're both trying to hard not to laugh, but they make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> yes Nursey is talking about Six of Crows, yes Chowder quotes Hey Ya as a pickup line, no i don't regret anything.
> 
> please gimme kudos and/or comments because you KNOW they fuel me and that i'll go through them every time i get sad about not owning my own bakery

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sweet On You [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436173) by [read by Khashana (Khashana)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khashana/pseuds/read%20by%20Khashana), [solarperigee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarperigee/pseuds/solarperigee)




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